Pondering on Thoughts
by JustDefy
Summary: Severus thinks about Hermione


It was the fourth of September.

In the first century, there was a daughter of St. Philip. This particular St. Philip was not the Apostle, but is frequently confused with the Philip that is the Apostle. That daughter of Philip was mercilessly slaughtered at the hands of Roman persecutors, simply for being a Christian. He knew that if he was there at the time, he would murder every single last one of them, from the low men who had taken Her life away to Emperor Trajan himself. Bloody dunderheads, the whole lot of them.

The Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches now deem Her a Christian martyr. And for good reason, he decided, because if they hadn't he might have just go ahead and force them to do so right now at the point. That being said, he still might do so with the Archbishop of Canterbury, as the Anglican Church does not celebrate feasts, or at least _Her_ feast, not since Henry VIII broke with the Catholic Church. He now has an itch to use his time-turner to go back and throttle the bloody fool for annulling his marriage with Catherine from the House of Trastámara. Oh, and Mary Stuart as well, for not having male descendants with the Catholic Philip from the House of Habsburg before dying. After all, today is the fourth of September.

* * *

Oh, he knows that he is British. He knows that She herself is British as well, and so does She. But he pays respects to the French and the Americans, even though they were on the opposite side of the American War for Independence, for She had fought for the Americans and the French at the Naval Battle of Louisbourg and their side won. Why else would he be at the Centre International de la Mer in Paris in 1992, demanding that a ship be built in honour of Her, instead of teaching at Hogwarts? (This was accomplished, as always, with the use of a time-turner, for he was not 32 years old at that time, and a little bit of Einstein's Special Relativity after the deal was done. After all, he can fly like Superman, faster than Superman.)

* * *

He hates the fucking treacherous crew who turned Her over to the Spanish in 1797. The fucking Spanish! The same people who kicked the Jews and the Muslims out of the Iberian peninsula and launched a genocide against the First Nation peoples of the Americas. Not to mention of the rampaging, pillaging, murdering, and raping of poor innocent French Huguenots during the Wars of Religion in France, or poor innocent German and Dutch Protestants during the 30 Years' War. Or the brutal enslaving of Africans. (That's not to say the other countries of that time were immune to the influence of the Spanish – many of them were engaged in the same sort of actions.)

He can't possibly fathom the horrors She underwent while being controlled and steered by those idiotic Spanish dunderheads for two whole years. It's as if Death Eaters took Her and Crucio'd Her all those two years like the Longbottom parents.

Oh, and he hates the crew of the German submarine U-205 as well. For obvious reasons.

* * *

He now speaks the Bavarian and Alemannic dialects of High German. Why? Well, before they were High German dialects, they were Old High German dialects. And before they were Old High German dialects, they were the Irminonic languages, from a Germanic tribe known as the Irminones. Now, what exactly did the Romans call them, again?

* * *

He couldn't decide if he loved or hated Gioachino Rossini, as he watched the events of his 1819 _azione tragica_ play out before his eyes. If he was a character in the opera instead of a spectator, he knew that the woman being sought by Pirro and Oreste would have had a far better life without the two meddling fools around, as his first action there may be to immediately kill Pirro and Oreste on sight, preventing the tragedy revolving around Her from materialising. He loved Rossini because it was Her, but he hated him for putting Her in such a dark situation.

That being said, he might just do the same to the rest of the men and women in the play, from Pilado to mute Astianatte, from Attalo to Andromaca, simply because they as meddling old fools who did nothing but stand around as the situation passed from terrible to tragic, or even aided in the evolution of the opera to tragic. Yes, even the Trojan prisoners, who didn't do much except be prisoners to people like Pirro and Oreste. They didn't deserve to witness the metaphorical collapse of the world, but it is too late now, the damage to their brains has already been done, and they deserve to be put out of their misery.

* * *

Did I mention that he was once at Shakespeare's Globe? Well, he was shortly after it opened, the restored version from the Globe Theatre from the 1600s, and they were putting on Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_ for everybody to see and enjoy in all the ancient ways of the Elizabethean era. Or should I say the Jacobean era, since Queen Elizabeth, the first one, died in 1603, twenty years before Shakespeare's play was published in the First Folio.

He really hates the character of Leontes, for first accusing Her of cheating on him, when she did no such thing, and would never do in Her fucking life, and then throwing Her in jail. Didn't he know that 13th century prisons are some of the worst, most foul places to be for a woman as tender and kind as Her? Not to mention that the cause of Her death in this play is a direct consequence of Leontes actions. If he was there, the Sicilian Vesper rebellion that occurred under King Charles in 1282 would have occurred under Leontes, for what he has done to Her. Or if he had the opportunity, he would have just straight out murdered Leontes.

To hell with the second half of the play sixteen years later. Leontes has ruined everything; he deserves all the punishment he can, and there simply isn't enough punishment delivered to him by the others.

* * *

Not to mention that there is one person he hates more than King Leontes of Sicily: Joanne Rowling. Could she just please shut up about the lies of him and Her? Rowling is worse than Rita Skeeter, and she is breaking the International Statute of Wizardry Secrecy. No, he did not die in that stupid shack of the werewolf, and no, She is not married to that dunderhead of a person. It is impossible to imagine Her married to a 20th or 21st century equivalent of King Leontes.

At least he takes comfort in some of the stories written about the two of them circulating around in the world after the violation of the Statute of Secrecy, although some of them are quite painful, like the one where She gets teleported to random times in his life, tells him to do something, and then leaves because of her stupid different time-turner. And then when She tries to save him in that story, that same spastic dunderhead Rowling claims She is married to in her book prevents Her from doing so, even though it is evident what Her feelings are. Fucking hell.

Oh, and by the way, fuck you Donatien Alphonse François de Sade, for he hates reading stories where he is whipping the hell out of Her. That is not proper; that is abusive, disgusting, and so out of character of him or Her.

* * *

He watched _Andromaque_ at the Hôtel de Bourgogne in Paris and came out with a frown. This play was a tragedy and it was almost a copy of Rossini's Opera, except that She seemed too proud and full of herself in Racine's version. He wanted to kill Jean Racine for portraying Her in manner far worse than Rowling's. Rather an "insufferable know-it-all," as Rowling described her, than the boastful manner implied in her actions, or rather, Racine's blatant slandering of Her pure heart, pure soul. This was before he discovered that Racine wrote his version before Rossini did his. Now he wanted to imprison both of them in the Tower of London just as the two pretenders to the throne Richard and Edward were. Forever. Add Shakespeare and Rowling into the mix.

He just couldn't stand it. He couldn't languish by the side as people from the 17th, 18th, 19th, 20th, and 21st century wrote works of art clearly condemning Her to a life of hell, just as they almost did to Gretchen in Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's _Dr. Faust_. She wouldn't languish in one place, if She was in his position watching him get pushed down to Tartarus by dunderheads.

* * *

David Bowie is a genius. Somebody wrote something that he actually agreed with, for once. Here is his poem, er, song from his 1969 album _David Bowie_ , listed number 4 on the A side…

 _The hand that wrote this letter sweeps the pillow clean_

 _So rest your head and read a treasured dream_

 _I care for no one else but you, I tear my soul to cease the pain_

 _I think maybe you feel the same, what can we do?_

 _I'm not quite sure what we're supposed to do_

 _So I've been writing just for you_

 _They say your life is going very well_

 _They say you sparkle like a different girl_

 _But something tells me that you hide_

 _When all the world is warm and tired_

 _You cry a little in the dark, well so do I_

 _I'm not quite sure what you're supposed to say_

 _But I can see it's not okay_

 _He makes you laugh, he brings you out in style_

 _He treats you well and makes you up real fine_

 _And when he's strong, he's strong for you_

 _And when you kiss it's something new_

 _But did you ever call my name just by mistake?_

 _I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do_

 _So I'll just write some love to you_

He assumes that this poem must be written to represent the year of nineteen-ninety-six, or the earlier portions of nineteen-ninety-seven. Obviously things have changed by then, or otherwise the blasted Rowling may be correct.

* * *

If there was one good thing that came out of Hitler's foolish conquest of Europe, it was those beautiful paintings of London damaged by the Blitz. Yes, She does not share the last name of Hammond with the painter, but the two of them visited the Chelsea Polytechnic and She and he were touched by the paintings and the daily sufferings of the poor children of London as their entire livelihoods were destroyed by the bombers and the V1 rockets of the Nazis, their parents, friends irreversibly gone. He and She decided that those paintings were of the greatest, amongst those of men like Picasso, Duchamp, Ernst, and Radnitzky.

* * *

Oh, and where did he go after the 2nd Wizarding War to hide from the rest of the world? Where else, but a small town about ten kilometres east of Kranidi and 44 kilometres southeast of Nafplio? After all, he is still hiding there now, though She has since joined him in perpetuity, living their lives together in eternal bliss.


End file.
